This Is It

Unthinkable

She told.

That day I thought the unthinkable.

"I fucking hate that motherfucking bitch!" My brain and heart screamed. I was scared at what was going to happen. The school guidance counselor, brown hair and nice, called my dad. Now here's someone that you don't know. My dad was the devil in my eyes. It started when I was 4 years old. My mom loved me to pieces, but my dad not so much. He would come home from work, that look on his face. My siblings and I immediately ran upstairs to our bedroom and hid in the closets every time we heard the garage door open. The house turned from a happy, bustling home to a cold, quiet grave. My mom would greet him always the same.

"Hi honey, how was your day?"

"Tiring," he would reply in a harsh tone. My mom would immediately back off and go to the living room. My dad then walks up the stairs with a heavy tread. I would pray to God that I didn't hear my door handle turning as I hear him walk down the hallway.

Most of the time the squeak of my door would fill my ears.

"Where's my baby girl?" He would ask in an alluring tone.

"I know you're in here you little brat!" He would suddenly shout with such force the pictures on my wall would shake. He found me quickly after that.

His "gift" would come next. Sometimes it was just his hand or his fist, pounding against my skin. Other times it was a wooden spoon, or a belt, or a paddle against my back, again and again. His hand hit my face repeatedly, leaving a bruise.

"Shhhhhh... Don't tell anyone or daddy will be mad." He would whisper and get up and leave my room like it was no big deal. No big deal at all.